For Soon We'll Away
by Okami No Yume
Summary: A lonely drifloon just wants some playmates. A grim little tale just in time for Halloween. One-shot.


**For Soon We'll Away**

**Disclaimer:** If you think I own Pokemon, then there's a bridge in Unova I'd be happy to sell you. XP

**Author's Note:** Horror is normally not my forte, but this idea kept hovering and tugging at the edge of my psyche. If it sends a chill up your spine, then I have done my job, dear readers. This was intended to be a short, but it spun out a little longer than I anticipated. Ah well, such is the nature of inspiration, no?

* * *

**I.**

_(Come little children, I'll take thee away...)_

Jonathan Harris enjoys his job as a administrator at the Valley Windworks Power Plant. Instead of using nuclear or coal, it harnesses the strong winds that surround Floarama town to create clean energy.

It's environmentally friendly, and it won't adversely affect Pokemon or people. It's the wave of the future, he reflects, along with solar power.

It is a pleasant Friday afternoon when his pretty wife Marianne surprises him with a basket right around his lunch break. Their five year old son Timothy is in tow and he greets his father enthusiastically, clearly enjoying the rare treat of getting to see his daddy at work.

Jonathan gives them a sort of small tour on the way out, explaining how it all works in an animated matter, and his wife nodding along, not entirely understanding but smiling nonetheless and keeping a eye on Timothy.

They settle in the meadow by the Windworks, the windmills churning idly and providing a pleasant sort of white noise. They have lunch and sit side by side while Timothy goes off to explore eagerly, hoping that he can maybe spot a pokemon. The small boy nourishes dreams of becoming a traveling trainer when he is old enough.

Jonathan smiles fondly as he recalls his own childhood, and considers getting a pokemon as a pet for his son's next birthday.

As little Timothy runs through the tall grass with the admonition of his mother not to wander far being snatched away by the wind, he spots a strange floating purple object. Curiously, he approaches it and to his surprise and delight, he finds that the balloon like object is alive, and he feels a thrill of excitement run through him upon the revelation that it must be a Pokemon. It's one he's never seen before.

The balloon like creature bobs and weaves before him in a hypnotizing dance, and then floats slowly away from him, inviting the child to give chase.

Timothy runs after it, unaware that the balloon is leading him farther and farther away from his parents, who do not realize that he has gone missing until it is far too late.

* * *

**II.**

_(Come little children, the time's come to play...)_

The next day, the face of a small boy with large brown eyes and curly ash-blonde hair is plastered across all the news stations in Sinnoh, alongside footage of a man holding his sobbing, hysterical wife, stammering over and over again that he doesn't know, doesn't know, doesn't know...that his son was there one minute and gone the next, simply vanished into thin air.

_How could this have happened?_

Investigations are launched and interviews are conducted. The missing boy becomes a national tragedy, and the media a circus, a feeding frenzy of sharpedo that have smelled blood in the water.

After all, people do so love a tragedy; it is intoxicating to get swept up in the drama of it all, even if only vicariously. The public's morbid fascination and curiosity demands to be satisfied.

* * *

**III.**

_(Follow sweet children, I'll show thee the way...)_

Search parties are sent out with trained growlithe and arcanine at their sides, and some even employ mightyena. The first few days there is hope that the small boy might be found alive and there will be a tearful, happy reunion to broadcast.

After the third day, hope has all but dwindled that anything but a small corpse will be recovered, and the officers and volunteers work tirelessly, searching the field and the forests beyond.

Weeks pass, and no traces are found.

It is as if the little boy never was.

* * *

**IV.**

_(Weep not poor children, for life is this way...)_

Questions arise and speculation and theories crop up like mushrooms after a rainstorm. _Did the mother murder her son? Did the father do it? Did the child drown? Was he dragged away and eaten by a wild Pokemon? _

Suspicions are whispered in the small town and grim looks are cast towards the parents. The mother, Marianne, has a drained, haunted look to her while her husband is often caught at work staring into space with a thousand yard stare, every Friday seeing the purple drifloon lazily floating about the field.

The couple quietly move away within a matter of months, to a different region in the hopes that they'll be able to escape their nightmare.

* * *

**V.**

_(Rest now my children, for soon we'll away...)_

Years pass, and Timothy Harris' disappearance fades from the public memory, and he eventually turns into an urban legend used to spook the kids in town. His story is passed on to children by the adults as a cautionary tale to never wander too far from town, or the drifloon would come to spirit them away.

The story morphs and changes, the details becoming distorted, as is the nature of local legends. Timothy's name and age is changed to Mikey or Kevin. Details are added or exaggerated. In some versions his body was found partially eaten or he's found with his still open in a permanent look of horror at having his soul sucked out, in others a thing like a shoe, a scrap of clothing, or a beloved toy (such as a Teddiursa bear or a Machoke action figure) is the only trace found of him, and nothing else.

The one detail that never changes is that of the drifloon leading him away to his fate.

* * *

**VI.**

_(Come little children, I'll take thee away...)_

Ten years later, another child goes missing. Her name is Abigail Matthews, and history repeats itself. The circumstances are different, but the ending is the same. Coming home from school she passed the Valley Windworks, and seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving no trace behind except for her book bag found sitting by the side of the road hours after her disappearance. Abigail's mother clutches the bag to her chest and prays to Arceus above for her child's safe return.

Search parties are deployed once again, and of course, like before, nothing is ever found.

Her disappearance is considered a tragic accident, and her case is quietly shelved away in the cold case files of the basement of the town's police department, alongside the other lost children.

The town moves on, but they are always plagued by questions to mysteries that will forever remain unsolved.

And of course, the drifloon continues its weekly danse macabre outside of town.

No one wants to believe that such an innocuous looking creature could be responsible for the loss of their children.

But deep down, they can't help but suspect, and hug their children a little tighter and keep them a little closer.

* * *

**VII.**

_(Come little children, the time's come to play...)_

It's all Hallow's Eve, and the entire town are all out and about. The crisp, chilly autumn ear is filled with shrieks of laughter, delight, and lively chatter as sugar buzzes through the veins of the children in search of mischief and enough candy to make their stomachs burst.

A six year old girl in a pink fairy costume named Rosemary Martinez walks with her older brother, Carlos, who doesn't seem too enthused about doing stupid baby stuff like trick-or-treating. He'd much rather be partying and marathoning horror movies and binging on candied apples and popcorn with his buddies or egging the school principal's house and car. Instead, he's forced to shepherd his little sister around town.

He calls back to Rosemary to hurry up, that it's getting late. And though he won't say it out loud, he's getting a creeping feeling prickling along the back of his neck. After all, this is supposedly the area where kids disappeared every few years because of some freaky little drifloon that was said to make an appearance once a week. He'd heard the stories when he was a kid, and they'd given him some sleepless nights to say the least.

He turns around in annoyance to call for his sister once again, but what he sees stops him cold.

Rosemary is gone. He sees her little pumpkaboo-shaped basket full of candy on the ground tilted over, and beside it, the little pink plastic wand she was carrying with her.

Feeling the blood drain from his face, Carlos shrieks her name over and over again, his voice quickly bordering on panic and hysteria. He swears that he only took his eyes off of her for a minute, she has to be close by, and oh Arceus his mom's going to kill him when she finds out.

He runs and continues shouting her name, desperation and adrenaline running through him. He stops at a small clearing, his heart pounding like snare drum and cold sweat and goosebumps breaking out all over his body.

Then he realizes that it's gone dead quiet. There is not the snuffling of a bidoof nor the padding of a shinx nor any other of the usual night sounds one might hear.

Except the wind, and on the wind he swears he can hear the tinkling, bell like laughter of children at play.

He turns slowly around and he does not see any children.

What he sees instead is a single, solitary drifloon dancing alone in the light of the full moon.

**End **


End file.
